Psychic Rations

Vroom Vroom

Yesterday was a really rough one dudes.  I was contacted by Mr Middle-Management as per the request of upper-management to let me know that I can expect my call either this week or next, and while I am as ready as I will ever be, it ain't the 5 weeks I thought I had left.

As I listened to the message on my mobile and then read the email that followed I got a little panicky, my butt started to twitch and I felt like I was suffocating, god there was no air!  It's real, it's happening; then I paced around my house for a good hour using that word that rhymes with truck, while my eyes misted up at random intervals (I tried to chew my nails but they are gel coated - so no dice, but worth a try ... heh) and I started to pee frequently (I do that when I am really nervous).   I'm trying so hard to keep it all together but I feel like my little legs can't keep up with the pull of the current and my head is starting to bob beneath the waters of New-Job-In-Hell.  I mean really, you can't prissy it up too much - the place is a wasteland of red dirt, dongers and mining pits with summer temperatures that entice the devil himself to vacation there.  It's twelve and a half hour shifts of both days and nights in a single rotation; mod cons will be scarce and female dignities will be such a total non-event I will barely believe my eyes.  Just to give weight to that dignities remark, while in Perth I rather flippantly asked Mr Middle-Management what happens when you need to use the ladies while driving (because two of my GF's posed the question on Friday night and twas not one I had given thought to), and you know what he said to me? He looked me dead in the eye and told me .... I would have to squat behind the wheel of my truck ...  Oh. My. God.  Do I even squat?? Can I squat??  Well, I guess if I can't squat I better learn quick because joy on joy I am going to be squatting.

There is no Moira to do a quick nail repair, there is no supermarket to duck off to if I forget something, there can be no white clothing,  and there is NO HOT WAX!  *hyperventilating*  I am destined to be a bushy eye-browed, mustached, man-handed, stinky, sweaty-ball of red dust that wanders errantly about the camp muttering to anyone who will listen about mythical things such as beauty salons, manicures and silky smooth skin.  Maybe I could pack some wax strips to sniff and lick in times of desperation.  Tuck them safely beneath my mattress (with the errant snakes I am told shall wander in at will) like a forbidden stash of beauty queen porn.  Clippings of beautiful hands and scratch-n-sniff perfume samples ....

I sat and looked at the list I came home with last week-end, thought to my self 'holy *insert word rhymes with trucking* shit ....'.  Then I rang C, Red, and my TAFE lecturer (to let her know I wouldn't be in last night because I was in a bit of crisis ta to stress).  It is a bizarre set of emotions that I am experiencing because I want to go.  I want this experience and I want to provide, and it's not the actual job I am afraid of; it's leaving home.  No matter which way I look at it, essentially I am going to be living the majority of my life somewhere else, which makes what is currently my home, a temporary pit-stop.  I'm afraid of disappointing people and not being the best I can be, I'm afraid the ache in my heart for my family will suck the life out of me and I'm afraid of losing my friends.  Big change is nigh and everything I know is going to cease ....

BUT

I can think up all the reasons in the world not to go and do this but there is one big one that outweighs everything else ....

I will be the little pink bit of butt floss sitting in the cab of that there truck up above .... 

Staring Down The Barrell

Ack - with all this weight-loss victory floating about in the air (see sidebar 58.8kgs dudes!!) I find myself wondering what the heck I am getting up for every morning if not to squint through gritty, barely open eyes to see if I have gone down to the next milestone?  Is there life without watching the Tanita's for loss?

I know that I can lose weight, and I know I can maintain momentum for losing weight (see the last year and ten months no bloody less) BUT looking back at my past history I suck at maintenance in general.  Not just a little bit suck, but big old flunking 'F' that results in gaining back all I have lost and then an extra ten kilo's for good measure.  Because, you know, re-gaining that twenty kilo's just wasn't enough, I had to add insult to the injuries.  Each time I have lost and re-gained I frivolously wharfed my way to a  more enthusiastic grand total, like a baby elephant heading for maturity.

I look back at all my previous attempts and really, despite my bubbling enthusiasm I have daringly bared for all to see in my previous post, I can't keep ignoring the fact that: I haven't been able to do it.  I do have the confidence that I have made the lifestyle changes, and have faith in my ability to hang on to those changes regarding exercise and food choices, but actually fiddling with my current schedule to maintain the status quo is going to throw me a curve ball.  One I fear (with good standing) will smack me right in the middle of my righteous yet humble, over-eating mouth.  Believe it or not I am horrendous when it comes to change, and with me a little bit usually equals a little bit more, and a little bit more.  It seems to be that 'little bit more' that gets me into all sorts of strife..... or at the very least, it gets me into several value packs of double choc chip bikkes and a good sixty kilo's of M&M's.

The thought of reaching the end (although glorious) is making me nervous on new levels that I had not really considered this whole time.  I don't know what I thought I would do when I reached my goal weight, but at present I have absolutely NO plan of attack - none, nada, zilch, zippo.  In the light-bulb moments where upon I realise that I am fast approaching the end run, I am thinking that I had better get myself some kind of ...  I dunno, something.  Trust me when I tell you I really don't want to go a plummeting straight back into a crate of cheese & bacon balls.

So how does one master maintenance?  Now that I have talked the talk I would really like to walk the walk; you know, before I decide to gain back 40 kilos and a new lifetime of self loathing.

Like The Do?

It was time for Ration to have an overhaul, even with my limited tech savvy ways I feel like I have been able to put together a pretty decent spread - if I do say so myself!  I love the little picture of my budding bicep up there, except even now just a few weeks later that bicep is much more impressive - YAY!

I stuck to my plan of not going to the gym yesterday, it was hard and easy all at the same time.  I was wrapped at the thought of doing no exercise but the mind was hell bent on playing the guilt record over and over again. I was so fatigued yesterday I could barely see straight and at about 9pm last night it all caught up with me.  I had a choc-fest which helped me feel fantastic.  I was worried I would feel bad and punish myself for it today but, being totally honest here - I don't give a crap that it happened.  I'm stronger now than I was before and I know that I won't be looking for the same again tonight because I had what I wanted, when I wanted it - when I needed it.

I was talking to a GF the other night and she said to me 'I don't think you will ever get fat again ...' and I think she is right.  I don't need to give myself daily motivational pep-talks about food do's and don'ts and I have stopped beating myself up over what I put in my mouth. I just try and make the healthy choices for the majority of the day, stick to my rule of never-go-hungry, and I have my treats at the ready so that if I want, I can have. I daresay there will be times when I am tested to my limits, but I try not to stress too much about them and I focus on enjoying myself.  I figure if I put it into a context it can't hurt me - so I am looking at it this way; even after my 1000 calorie M&M-a-thon I was still 59.6kgs this morning and I am still a body builder (which is THE most important thing of all). 

I don't claim I am now the guru of all things good and healthy, nor do I possess the secret key to the Skinny Living Universe.  But, I can say that I am happy, content with my exercise and satisfied with my food.  I know I eat too many protein bars but what is a girl supposed to do when they are white chocolate and peanut butter for crying out loud ...

Hark! - What is that on the horizon??

Could it be a rainbow ... or ....  would that be a big fat Wii Fit sitting at EB Games for me to pick up - Why YES .. yes it is

Oh dudes this is going to be great!

In Which I Drown In Vomit

Greetings from The Grand Pit of Despair!  Last night at about midnight poor C decided to try and vomit his lungs up - and being unsuccessful in his first attempt he has since tried, oh about a half dozen times to do it again, and again, and again!  I don't know about you guys, but if it was me I would stop - clearly his lungs are there to stay...  heh.

'Oh how cruel you are making fun of the poorly' I hear from the heavens, but although I jest I am going the distance - all night I have been checking on him, fetching glasses of water, bringing buckets and mixing up copious amounts of electrolytes; for I too have the distant memory of what it's like to throw up every twenty minutes for twelve hours straight.  I still can't stand the smell of Bakers Delight to this day, thanks to my one and only dalliance with gastroenteritis in all it's gory glory (God, Cape Seed Fruit & Nut Loaf relived with every ralph).  He (the beastie formerly known as my hubby) currently resides on a Sesame Street sleeping bag and is unable to remove himself from the bathroom floor.  When I suggested he might want to move to warmer location (Albany - Winter - Arctic) he mumbled something about the cold of the floor... being close to the loo ... and really, who am I to argue if he wants to freeze to death toilet-side?  Strange things blow your hair back when your body is hosting a revolution and if he wants to be all ice-maiden-in-the-bathroom-of-Casa-De 'G' I am not going to get in the way of whatever small comfort he has. 

The joy this morning has continued as a deathly white creature emerged from a bed, I believe it used to be my son but he too has been evilly taken hostage, and dually sucked into The Grand Pit of Despair along with that poor wrung out creature that used to be my husband.  As quickly as I could I marched it back to the cocoon from where it emerged, bucket in tow and have since confined it to quarantine to prevent further spread of disease.  Yellow crime scene tape seals the door, BIOHAZARD symbols have been painted on Deco napkins in 'Get Ready' nail polish by Revlon and big black skull-and-cross-bones have been stuck on the walls in random locations with sticky tape.  Yes! Such is my desperation to kibosh any further infestations I have flirted outrageously with danger by putting sticky-tape on the unusually delicate matte paint that decorates the walls of our humble abode.   Threatening the existence of that paper thin coating with cheap adhesives, why I am nothing but a heathen paint killing tart.   

Wow - I think I really need some sleep.

So, in light of all the joy floating around this place I figured TODAY was a good day to not go into the gym this morning - grab that much needed rest and give the old body a break.  My weight was down another 200g today, which, in the current climate of zero recovery time is a miraculous wonder perched upon the surface of an otherwise murky and desolate stream of vomit in which I find myself drowning.

Please excuse me if I seem a touch blasé  today - It's been a long tough night and I am a bit whoopy. It really is the last thing I feel.

Chronicles of the Colonoscopy - not mine JFTR

A very good friend of mine (Red) was told she had a mass in her bowel that would require investigation via a colonoscopy <----  fancy word (read: by shoving a big pole up your butt).

So D Day was Thursday just gone and because the both of us were so god damned nervous about it we figured it was safety in numbers and we made a pact to do it together.  6.30am we trundled on up to Albany general for admission.  Following that, we settled ourselves into the day procedure unit hand in hand, laughing nervously at fuck-all because if you don't laugh you feel like you're going to die.  The day was really, really, really, cold,  so I imagined poor Red's  butt (if not already destroyed by the copious amounts of crap-your-heart-out goo she had been forced to consume 12 hours previously) would be frozen shut.  I knew if I were in her position mine would have been, in fact mine probably would have grown teeth and started attacking anybody/thing that came near it - but I am incredibly pansy when it comes to anything 'back door'.

 We sat and chatted while the room filled up with fellow colonoscopy patients, apparently they were numbered according to which bed they sat in which made Red third on the list. She was shuffled off for a shower and they put the numbing cream on her hands (WUSS!!), took her obs and had the surgeon come and tell her how he was going to insert the pole into her ass.  Then he went on to tell her all about the associated risks of having the pole up her ass and what to do about her ass should any of those risks should come to fruition (you know, if you start bleeding to death best come up to the hospital - keh yeah, you think???)   Still, as flamboyant as I found the good doctor to be, more power to him in his profession because if I had his job I would NEVER eat with my hands ........  ever ....... EVER ....  again.  Moving on ....

Now would be the time to note that each and every one of these ladies was on 'nil by mouth'.  A cruel and menacing state inflicted on the poor folk of ill health 'for their own good' and with which I am terribly familiar.  I have been on several 'nil by mouth' orders so I totally went out in sympathy.  (Except mine wasn't just for 12 hours or so - mine was like forever. I swear, I would go to sleep at night in the hospital and wake up to that bastard little sign every damn morning for a week!  It was like evil little night pixies would come and put the sign above me just to watch me dribble on myself as everybody else ate their cooked breakfasts in the room).  Sorry for that quick digression I just wanted you to know that I was feeling their pain .... Anyhoo, knowing how bad it can be sans food I honestly hung out as looooooong as I possibly could,  but in the end my stomach was growling up a tantrum so I had to do it.  I sat there trying to eat my protein bar as quietly as I could - trying not to crinkle my wrapper in case it alerted the troops - nay, it was impossible.  Every time I accidentally made a noise I could feel the air around me electrify with pure hatred from the other three anal probe patients.  So I sat, avoiding all eye contact and I chewed what should have been a perfectly yummy protein bar, but in light of the unfortunate circumstances it took on the form of dry cardboard that refused to go down - contraband.  Then I felt even worse when I had to eat my macadamias too; so, so sorry ladies but I'm a body builder - I had to do it, please don't hate me because I was hungry.....

The first lady was finally wheeled out, we bowed our heads very sternly and bade farewell to the brave soldier.  Then we proceeded to get out all the chocolate (by way of peanut butter M&M's and Hersheys peanut butter kisses) I had stashed in my bag for Red post-probe and she sat there and started sniffing the chocolate through the wrappers.  I know that when you come out of theater that a cup of tea and sandwiches is all fine and dandy, but when you haven't eaten in forever you need something that is going to stick to your ribs - so I packed accordingly - chocolate and loads of it.

Lady number one came back, wheeled in snoring like a trucker, lady number two was wheeled off and Red and I looked at each other. 'Your next', I said.  'Yep', she replied and we sat in a few moments silence for what was going to happen. 

As the time dragged on we turned to our magazines.  Red went to Take 5 and Thats Life!, while I did what any decent girl would do - I cracked the recent issue of HardCore and got a decent eye-full of Christian Gee - HUBBA! HUBBA! (have to say this little puppy is going on the wall of my donger when I get up to Area C - purely for technical reasons of course ie: for form, symmetry and size NOT because he looks like a beautiful, tanned, marble filled sock resembling a divine GOD - BTW they aren't lick marks on my magazine - I spilled my coffee ....)

We were engrossed in our reading when Red turned to me and showed me a picture of a meat dish and recipe in her magazine, very enthusiastically she said "Cwoar, that looks all right dunnit?"  I looked up and saw the most disgusting looking dish I had ever seen, "No, it looks like shit - you only think it looks good because you're hungry..." Clearly starvation was taking over Red and it was about this time she started looking at me like I was a big juicy roast chicken.  So I did what any good over-eater would - I started talking about all the foods that I loved just loud enough to piss off every other person in the whole room ....  heh.  Not that I am normally the inconsiderate type you understand, I was just trying to get my best friend through and this was clearly the way.  In no time flat she had joined in and once again, we stopped looking at the clock. 

Lady number two was wheeled back into the ward, snoring like a trucker.  When she came to, the nurse dutifully provided her with her cup of tea and sandwiches and went about her business.  Not long after the hospital tea lady came around and asked if anybody needed anything, the nurse told her she had already accommodated her patients when lady number two piped up and said 'Can I have a cup of tea ...  this one is bad', then she turned to the nurse and said 'Sorry love, its bad'.  Red and I leaned on each other as we dissolved into fits as quietly as we could in our little corner of butt-poking hell.  We took every bit of  comic relief we could find because it was starting to feel like a pressure cooker in there. 

Once we had gone through every single food we had ever loved I spotted her big fat medical file on the table so I asked Red if I could have a look and she said to go for it so I grabbed it up and started reading through it - I would read out results and she would tell me what it was all for and when it was.  About half way through I was rudely interrupted when the orderly grabbed the file out of my hands "You're not allowed to read that" he said in a very your-in-trouble kind of way.  "What?  You're not allowed to read your own medical file??" I asked, laughing because he just looked so ridiculous in his self-appointed authoritarian role.  "Well first it isn't your file, and second, no.  You have to apply under the Freedom of Information Act if you want see it".  Asinine little prick, if it was SO confidential they shouldn't have left it on the table.  Just as well he was there to wheel Red away for the Grand Poking or else I think I would have got into a pissy argument with him. 

While Red was in being violated I got my book out and read about 2 chapters, I think she would only have been gone a good twenty minutes, but in that twenty minutes lady number one had come out of recovery, had her sandwiches and tea and just had to move around a little to get the all-clear so she could leave.  She was just positioning herself to move when the poor love passed an enormous amount of wind that she obviously had not been ready for.  Such was the vastness of the wind I am certain without a doubt, that I saw the sheets flap.  Not one much for toilet humor, normally I would not have batted an eyelid but the poor woman was so shocked at what happened that she immediately started apologising loudly to us which sent me into hysterics ... which I had to try and hide in my book.  I swear I bit my cheeks until they bled.  Poor, poor lady, I really felt for her.

When Mr Orderly came back I figured I must have rattled his geeky little cage by laughing at his authority, because when he wheeled Red back in he didn't even excuse the fact that he tried to run me over with the bed, not so much as a bye-your-leave; I guess rude wasn't just his face and hairdo.   Red straight away opened a single eye and croaked 'that hurt like a bastard' and I immediately in my head started screaming blue bloody murder for not enough sedation, I was going to be writing someone a very sternly worded letter regarding budget cuts and medication administration.  I leaned over and stroked her hair and whispered 'hopefully you won't remember it sweetie', then kept cursing the stingy buggers for not doling out the drugs.  Abundance is a concept to be embraced when one is messing with someone elses marmite starfish.

After about another half hour my girl was sitting up and recovering, armed with her sandwiches and cuppa she opened the chocolate and started to munch, thankfully with no recollection of telling me how much it hurt.  The surgeon came through and told us that a couple of  polyps were the cause of the worry and that everything else looked good.  I felt like I was able to take the biggest breath I had taken all week.  I daresay she felt exactly the same - it was her butt, after all.

Post choc-fest she dressed, we got heck out of Dodge, stopped in at Subway for a meatball sub and a coke, then her beloved came and collected her from my place and took her home to rest.  Since then she assures me that she can hardly remember anything at all after the procedure, so for now I will ice my sternly worded note - but that business with that little orderly is definitely not over.

 

I know that in future times if I have to have some equally gross invasion that she will be sitting beside me with a tub of vaseline, a smile and a bag full of chocolate, plotting out a vendetta against that very same orderly as he wheels me off to be violated.

STOP THE PRESS

59.8kgs   59.8KGS      59.8 kilos  fifty-nine point freaking eight kilograms!!!

I think I am going to pass out

Intermission

The whole working on the mines thing is starting to wig me out - I know it's exciting (and by all that is my Tommy Hilfiger pants I am excited!) but the reality of leaving my family is starting to set in and it has me in a very unusual place. 

Believe it or not I am a psychotic little creature (What? Me? Nooooo) and I can deal with day to day changes but this move is going to throw me completely out of my comfort zone.  I am going to be standing on my own, no safety nets behind me to fall back on - just me and a whole new working (and living) environment that I am going to have to adjust to.  One I have never seen or experienced and lets face it, will be predominantly male orientated ("Yikes" says the little anxiety attack waiting-to-happen).  I have thought all this through, and we have discussed it at length;  but please, just allow me this moment to freak-the-fuck-out. 

I'm scared.  Not 'boo ha ha' scared, I am sitting here trembling in my jocks as I start to prepare for the imminent phone call and preparation for leaving the nest.  Putting Amy to bed last night I looked on the moment and realised that I will only be able to kiss those little fingers for five days out of every three weeks.  My babies are going to grow and learn without me there to see it each and every day.  It makes me feel like I have taken those moments for granted and will regret it sorely when I leave and no longer have the luxury of sitting down for a chat with my girls, or be able to ask my son how his girlfriend is (whole new post of grey hairs there baby).  Financially this is the best chance for us and we know this, but this is a five to seven year project - I don't want to let Mr Middle-Management (who got me the job) down.  He has put his neck on the line for me several times and I swore that I would make the commitment and stick to it - it's signed sealed and delivered in perfume.

So like it or not I'm off; to make a better life for us and hopefully find a future that will provide us with some security.  If you see me over the next few weeks and I look a little fragile (waxing neglected and deranged) take a minute to fling some support in my direction.  It will be an adventure for sure but know I am praying that it is not the biggest mistake of my life.

Okay I am back to being excited again now ...

WHEEEEEE!

De-brief - V brief

I am in the next round of intakes dudes!  6 - 8 weeks and counting ....

Weight fab today - am down another 400g to 60.2kgs and considering the birthday festivities on the weekend and the sheer volume of vodka consumed, THAT is a bloody miracle.

Workouts have been 100% +, feel like I have been thumped in the back and my bi's are all achey.  The sorer I get the bigger I smile.  Just have to muster the energy to get to the gym this arvie and work my chest and tri's to a pile of mash.  Hoping for the 50's by Sunday  ... wish me luck :)

Letting Go

My birthday was amazing, I had the best time EVER and I felt like a princess all day.  I truly do have some awesome friends who have made my life a lot richer.   Thank-you to everybody who played a part in creating such a memorable and wonderful experience.  I will leave the waxing lyrical stuff there or nobody will think it's really ME writing this ..  hang on, I will just gag a little bit at myself.  Must be getting sloppy in my old age.

Something that has really surprised me about my birthday is when I look back on the pictures I cannot believe that it's me ... that this is what I look like now.  Fat Tanya still lives here with her shit laying all over the place.  Emotional baggage in the corners, self loathing on the coffee table and skewed reality all over the floor.  I know through all that is logic that I have lost all those kilo's and I have had to buy much much smaller clothes (which sorta makes it hard to ignore), but inside my head I am still fat.  The ugly, fat best-friend standing next to the pretty girl, you know ... the one who has to be funny.  How weird is that?

I hear the comments and compliments people say to me and I still shake my head, disagreeing with what they say because in my mind I am a fat person.  Last night I had a friend of mine tell me I was her 'idol' and before she had even finished speaking I started spewing forth a dozen different reasons as to why I shouldn't be and why she should look for a more worthy object of her admiration.  No matter how many reasons she gave for putting me on my pedestal I just shut her down and argued, argued, argued; playing down everything I have worked so very hard for like it was nothing.   Eventually the argument died down but I was smarting for hours afterward, feeling like some kind of fraud.   It was a horrible feeling in the bottom of my stomach.

I have thought about this a lot today because I felt so awful last night, and it leads me to wonder - when am I going to cut myself some slack?  Seriously, I have no idea how to get myself to accept who I have become.  I should be embracing it, loving and living it like it is the achievement that it is, instead of hiding in the corner thinking up ways I can play down the compliments before they are even spoken. 

I think it's high time that I figure out how to get my head around this and be the 'Skinny Bitch'  that I am.